Still is the toiling hand of Care, The drags and hacks repose; But, hark, how through the vacant air The rattling clamour glows! The wanton miss and rakish blade, Eager to join the masquerade, Through streets and squares pursue their fun; Home in the dusk some bashful skim; Some, lingering late, their motley trim Exhibit to the sun. To Dissipation's playful eye, Should have no other plan. Alike the busy and the gay Should sport all night till break of day, Methinks I hear, in accents low, Some sober quiz reply, Poor child of Folly! what art thou? A Bond Street Butterfly! Thy choice nor Health nor Nature greets, Enslaved by noise and dress and play, ANONYMOUS. THE FAIR THIEF. BEFORE the urchin well could go, Still, to reveal her artful wiles, These were her infant spoils, a store 1 Apollo's wit was next her prey, Great Jove approved her crimes and art; And t'other day she stole my heart. If lovers, Cupid, are thy care, EARL OF EGREMONT. PORTRAIT OF A WOMAN. Now see my goddess, earthly born, Furnish'd from Nature's boundless store, She proves all far sought knowledge vain : Untaught as Venus, when she found And unaccomplish'd all as Eve In the first morning of her life, When Adam blush'd, and ask'd her leave Yet there is something in her face, VOL. V. 3 c And there is magic in her eye (Though she's unskill'd to conjure down The pale moon from the' affrighted sky) Might draw Endymion from the moon. And there are words which she can speak, More sweet than all the heathen Greek, And she has raptures in her power, Let me but kiss her soft warm hand, And let her listen to my tale, And let one smiling blush arise (Bless'd omen that my vows prevail) I'll scorn the scorn of all the wise. ANONYMOUS. LOVE'S LEARNING. THOUGH never taught to measure space, The line of beauty I can trace, I cannot tell, a linguist sage, And skill'd in critic ken profound, But I can read, and run the while, I cannot give each light a name, But I of all the charms can speak, All politics in truth I hate, Save those which two fond hearts betray, Nor any secrets know of state, Save those of Cupid's silken sway. Who guides the helm, who holds the scale, Who rules the land, and who the sea, If Russia or the Turk prevail, "Tis just the same, I own, to me. I only know if Delia reign, Or Lydia sway my subject heart; Whether I bear Melinda's chain, Or 'neath my Chloe's anger smart. |